


He is Me

by NeuroWriter14



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Do not repost, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:48:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24006901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeuroWriter14/pseuds/NeuroWriter14
Summary: A collection of small works from Tumblr
Relationships: Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 11
Kudos: 68





	1. Part 1

Harry evaluated the ring in his hand. The ring consisted of a black stone in a gold setting. In the middle, was a triangle, splint in half by a line and circle in the center. The ring didn’t strike him as very Tom Riddle. It was incredibly simplistic for a man Harry associated with pure drama.

Dumbledore had found the ring in a shack once belonging to Tom’s family, where his mother had grown up. Harry let the ring fall into the palm of his hand. He could feel the something alive in the ring, twitching and pulsing in his palm. Dumbledore had yet to destroy it, dragging Harry out of the Dursley’s to see it, to explain more about Tom Riddle’s past.

Hogwarts was strangely quiet without the presence of the students. Besides the professors, Dumbledore, and himself, the castle was strangely vacant when it normally thrummed with life. 

Dumbledore left the room, leaving Harry alone with the horcrux. He would never be able to explain the temptation for what he did next. 

He slid the ring on his finger and seconds later, his vision darkened. 

_“Hello, Harry Potter.”_

He gasped, feeling his head move, but seeing nothing.

_“There’s no need to be afraid,”_ He knew that voice as it purred in his ear. _“I won’t hurt you. In fact, I think you’re rather curious.”_

Harry swallowed thickly.

_“You’re like me, aren’t you?”_ He felt phantom fingers graze his neck. _“Oh yes, you are.”_

“Like you?” He asked.

_“Yes.”_ Tom’s voice purred in his ear. _“You’re a horcrux.”_

His vision returned to him the moment he heard Dumbledore return. The door shut with a soft click as Dumbledore’s eyes dropped to his hand, noting the ring on his finger.

“Harry,” Dumbledore began.

“Professor,” He looked down at the ring, pinching the stone between two of his fingers. “Am I a horcrux?”

Dumbledore didn’t answer, only pursing his lips, his eyes no longer sparkling behind his half-moon glasses.

_“He’ll kill you. Or rather want me to do it. Run, Harry Potter.”_ Tom’s voice whispered. _“Run and come to me. We both know I can’t kill you knowing what you know now.”_

Harry turned, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind as he stepped out of the headmaster’s office. He didn’t hear Dumbledore calling to him. He didn’t hear McGonagall’s confusion at his appearance. 

_Horcrux. Like me. You’re a horcrux. Horcrux. Horcrux. Horcrux._

Harry couldn’t think straight. His mind returned to the diary, how Tom had called himself a memory. His 16-year-old self preserved in the pages. The diary was a horcrux. The ring is a horcrux. And it recognized him as one too. 

He didn’t realize he had called for his broom while within the walls of the castle, he only realized it was there as he stepped outside. Dumbledore had followed him throughout the castle, begging Harry to listen so he could explain. But he couldn’t hear anything. 

He gripped the handle of the broom and pulled himself over it. He looked over his shoulder just in time to see Dumbledore’s robes in the castle entrance before he kicked off the ground, feeling himself take flight. 

For some reason, it was easier to think when he was in the air. He had a connection with Voldemort. He could speak Parseltongue because Voldemort could speak Parseltongue. Dementors were always attracted to him. He thought it was because of his past. But maybe it was because he had two souls which called the dementors to him. 

He would have to die. For Voldemort to parish, he would have to die. Did he want to die?

_Neither can live while the other survives._

What did that mean for him? Would he have ever left his war alive? Was it always his destiny to die to ensure Voldemort’s downfall?

He should do it. Destroy every horcrux and then himself. Voldemort couldn’t survive if every bit of his soul was gone except for the bit he held. It’s what his parents would have wanted. It’s what Dumbledore wanted. Not his death, but Voldemort’s downfall.

So, why was this such a hard choice?

_“Self-preservation isn’t a sin, Harry.”_

“Shut up.” He let out a sigh. “Where are you?”

_“Malfoy Manor. You might not want to go in until after dark, though.”_

Harry didn’t know where Malfoy Manor was but the suddenly very helpful horcrux on his finger was more than willing to guide him. He landed just outside the gate of the manor as the sun began to dip below the sky, lighting the glass and dark exterior of the manor on fire in the evening rays. 

Harry watched as figures moved within the manor’s walls until the moon shone bright overhead and the last light flickered out. 

_“Go around the back of the manor. There’s a small study which has its own entrance. That’s where I am.”_

“I thought you would want the biggest room.”

_“You’ve met the Malfoys. Would you want to be around them more than you had to?”_

Harry felt himself laugh, but didn’t really hear the reaction. His mind was mostly buzzing with the thought that he was insane.

He crept onto the property, taking extra care to avoid the windows and doors until he reached the back of the manor.

“I am mad.”

He knocked.


	2. Part 2

He knocked.

The manor was deadly quiet, so quiet he could have heard a pin drop. It surprised him when the door opened and Voldemort appeared on the other side. He swallowed thickly as the man’s crimson eyes lowered to his. His head cocked sideways for a moment, his curiosity evident.

“I knew you were brave,” Voldemort’s icy voice ensured his thoughts of insanity. “But I didn’t realize you were stupid.”

Harry pulled the ring off his finger and raised it into Voldemort’s field of view.

“I thought you might want this back.”

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed and his skeletal hand raised to grab the ring, only for Harry to pull it out of his reach. Voldemort’s eyes narrowed, his hand hovering in the air.

“We need to talk, I’ll give it to you after.”

“You are aware that I can kill you and take it now.”

“You haven’t killed me yet,” Harry raised his head in defiance.

Voldemort’s lips quirked upward just slightly. He stepped aside slightly and gestured for Harry to enter the room. 

“I have lost track of you all summer, found you for one second, and then lost you again. And now here you are. At my door.”

Harry stepped past the man and looked around the dimly lit room he was occupying. Nagini curled next to the fire, the only light in the room. The flames flickered, giving Voldemort an eerie light as he watched Harry, striding past him toward a chair.

Voldemort’s movements were swift as he sat. Nagini lifted her head slightly, her eyes falling on Harry.

_“Master, the boy.”_

_“I am well aware of his presence. He’s not to be eaten,”_ Voldemort’s crimson eyes scanned him. _“Yet.”_

“That’s the second time you’ve offered me as her dinner.” Harry commented idly as he looked over the walls and portraits of the small office. 

It was strangely simplistic, with a large fireplace, emerald chairs, a silver and emerald carpet, and portraits of countrysides adorning the walls. A large desk sat on side of the room, near the door Harry entered, next to a large window. On the other side of the room, bookending the fire with the desk, was a large shelf, filled with various tomes. 

“Pardon?” Voldemort asked.

“You heard me.” Harry attempted nonchalance as best he could. 

“I think not,” The man was statue still, “I think you said that I’ve offered you as a meal to my Nagini twice now, but you couldn’t know that.”

“Couldn’t know that?” Harry asked. “Couldn’t know that you offered me as a meal, couldn’t know that you were trying to find something in the Ministry that directly lead to Sirius’s death, couldn’t know that you were on the back of Quirrell’s head.” Harry let out a breathy laugh. “But I did. And I didn’t understand.” 

He walked closer to the man. A small table sat between him and Voldemort, with a chair presumably for Harry on the other side. But he didn’t want to sit. Instead, he lied the ring down between the two of them. 

“Until now.” He watched the fire flicker in the black gem. “That’s a horcrux. And I think Nagini is one too.” He looked to the snake, who watched him with near human curiosity. “And so am I.”


	3. Part 3

He didn’t feel things. Emotions had rarely graced him when his soul was whole, but as he continued to split it, the less he felt. Anger was ever present with him, an emotion he had grow accustomed to over the years. He didn’t feel when he was formless either; those years after he met Harry Potter as an eleven-year-old. Any emotion he felt as he leeched off Quirrell, he attributed to the man himself, nothing more. After he regained his body, he felt flickers of emotions but he assumed was from gaining a human form once again.

But he suddenly felt shock.

_“That’s a horcrux. And I think Nagini is one too. And so am I.”_

The words echoed in his mind. 

He remembered the night he visited the Potters clearly. He remembered staring down at the child with emerald eyes. He remembered the emerald light he cast. He remembered the feeling of weightlessness and losing the feeling of reality. In those first few years, he floated around aimlessly until he found himself in Albania with a young man approaching him curiously.

He assumed the numbness he felt was the same numbness he had always felt. But was it something else? Was the numbness a result of losing part of his already torn soul?

He evaluated the boy in front of him, looking for lies, looking for a trap sent by Albus Dumbledore. But he didn’t find anything. He didn’t find anything but the truth in those damned emerald eyes. 

He tested the boy’s claim. He knew he could connect with the boy, enter his mind at will. However, he assumed it was a side effect of using the boy’s blood to regenerate himself. The boy’s mother had used the one weapon he could never counter. Love. It was Lily’s love for her son that protected him. A protection Voldemort sought to subvert, by taking the boy’s blood and making it his own. But perhaps there was more.

He searched. 

Over the years, he had learned how to feel his own soul. He could, in theory, connect with every piece of it that he had scattered. He used such a connection to enter Nagini and see through her eyes. He used that connection once more, this time letting it pull him to Harry Potter. 

The boy had stood still, watching him, until Voldemort tugged at that connection. Harry cried out in pain, his hand clutching his scar. And then, he was seeing himself. He saw his crimson eyes, his pale skin which reflected the flames of the fire. He saw Nagini, her eyes watching everything. He could feel the pounding of Harry’s heart. But more importantly, he could feel the boy’s pain. He could feel.

He let go of the connection and Harry dropped to a knee in front of him. He was breathless as a thousand realizations clicked into place.

The boy was a horcrux albeit an incomplete one. The emotions he felt over the years were Harry’s. And his bond with the boy was amplified by the blood they shared.

How perfect.


	4. Part 4

There were several ways to handle the situation he suddenly found himself in. On one hand, having another horcrux, though incomplete, kept him from facing death. On the other, the boy had the ring, which meant someone was trying to find them. He suspected Dumbledore. The man always had it out for him, even as a student. 

Dumbledore hunting horcruxes was one problem. Another was the boy. As much a problem as he was a solution. What would he do with Harry Potter?

With a wave of his hand, Harry fell backward from his kneeling position and onto the floor, his eyes open wide but his body asleep. It was hard enough to think with those emerald eyes watching him all the time. 

At eleven, Harry had been incredibly vocal and resistant. Over the years, he had become quieter. No doubt he, himself, had something to do with that. The boy had been through much over the years. Voldemort sucked in a breath before diving into the depths of his mind, searching for anything else that could keep himself one step ahead of Dumbledore.

Flash after flash of memory washed over him. He saw himself as a 16-year-old facing down 12-year-old Harry Potter. He saw Harry take the Sword of Gryffindor and plunge it into the Slytherin family monster. He saw as he took the fang that had once been lodged in his arm and destroy the diary, knowing he would likely die in the process.

He watched through Harry’s eyes as the boy who accompanied him to the graveyard that night died in a flash of emerald light. He felt the million emotions that threatened to overwhelm him until the memory released him.

Voldemort saw three Muggles. One was a woman, incredibly tall and thin with a near bird-like stature but ferocious eyes. He saw a man as round as he was tall and his equally round son. He saw as they sneered at Harry. He felt the impacts of the boy’s, Dudley’s, body impacting Harry. He felt Harry’s slight fear as his aunt shut the door to the cupboard under the stairs. He watched as Harry played with small plastic toys, passing time in the darkness.

Harry’s memories shifted again until Voldemort found himself in a familiar office.

_“Harry,” Dumbledore’s voice echoed around him. “Do you remember what I once told you, in your second year?”_

_“What do you mean, Professor? You’ve told me quite a lot.”_

_“When you came to me after the Chamber of Secrets.”_

_“Yes,” Harry breathed. “You said that the night Voldemort came to Godric’s Hallow, he transferred some of his powers to me.”_

_“Yes,” Dumbledore hummed. “This particular transfer is similar to the one that made this,” Dumbledore raised a ring into’s Harry’s field of view. Through Harry, Voldemort could hear the whispers from the ring. “Do you remember what I told you last year?”_

_“About the prophecy?” Harry asked._

_“Yes.”_

_“You said that Voldemort put too much store in it. He only heard half the prophecy.”_

He immediately let the memory fade, this time searching Harry’s memory for the full prophecy. Anger pounded through his veins as he did, making memories fly faster as though he were trapped in a tornado in Harry’s mind.

" _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...._ "

_No._


	5. Part 5

Harry searched in the darkness, trying to find a way out. But the darkness thrummed around him, black and sickening. He pushed forward, hoping to eventually find the light, the way out. But it was all darkness. Pounding, writhing, darkness.

As he continued walking, he suddenly came across his own reflection. It wasn’t interesting enough for him to stop and evaluate it. He knew what he looked like. 

He should have stopped.

The reflection followed him, mirroring his movements completely as they walked. Every hand raise, every head turn, the reflection mirrored him perfectly. Until they reached a precipice. 

“You’re not going to jump, are you?” The reflection asked.

Harry turned suddenly, looking over at his other self. His other self evaluated him in the same way. He should have looked exactly the same, but his eyes were crimson, like Voldemort’s.

“You’re almost there,” The reflection said quietly. “Keep thinking.”

_Eyes like Voldemort’s._ The words echoed in Harry’s mind until it suddenly seemed to make sense.

“You’re the horcrux.” The reflection, the horcrux, nodded. “What happens if I go down there?” Harry asked, looking over the edge once again. It was more darkness, more nothing.

“Maybe nothing, maybe something.” The horcrux shrugged. “Down there, that’s your fear. That’s the thing you hide even from yourself. Up here,” The horcrux waved his hand, “This is your conscious mind. Things you think, things you do, your better memories.”

“So, why is it dark?” Harry asked, looking around at the vast expanse of nothingness.

“For a couple of reasons,” The horcrux said, shoving his hands into his jean pockets. “You’re unconscious for one. Not many thoughts to be had in an unconscious mind. It’s how I managed to climb over the edge.” He waved his hand at the drop-off. “And also because Voldemort is exploring. Your thoughts and memories are elsewhere, literally.”

Harry turned his head, looking toward the way he came. Very faintly, he could hear a laugh that sounded much like Hermione, but it faded into the nothingness once again.

“Could I wake up if I go back the way I came?” Harry asked.

“Possibly. Just like you could possibly wake up if you jumped down there.” The horcrux gestured. “But it’s not guaranteed. I guess you have to ask yourself a question.”

“What question?”

“What will entice you the least? The pain or the happiness? What can jolt you awake?”

Harry nodded before looking over the horcrux again.

“You said you climbed up, what did you mean?”

The horcrux smiled wickedly. “What am I to you? Am I something good, or am I the bad?”

Harry swallowed.

“You don’t have to worry about hurting my feelings, Harry. I have none. So, what am I?”

“The bad,” He answered.

“Exactly. So, would it make more sense that I stay with your fears and worst memories, or up here, where you could see and feel me?”

“What happens now that you’re up here?”

The horcrux shrugged. “That’s up to you.”

He nodded and approached the edge once again. He looked behind him at the darkness, he looked down at the darkness in front of him, and then to the horcrux, who’s crimson eyes stayed on him.

“Wish me luck.”

“Good luck, Harry Potter.”

He jumped.


	6. Part 6

Harry landed only to have the world fall out from under him.

Light shown through a window, illuminating a small kitchen. Harry felt his legs dangling over a large chair, swaying back and forth. He placed his hand on the table only to find that his hand was smaller than he remembered. He lifted his hand, examining it, pulling at his overly large sleeves and revealing a lack of scarring on his arms. No hole from the basilisk, no small scars from tumbles and falls over the years, no long scar along his left thumb from Dudley's too rough roughhousing. He turned, looking at the rest of the kitchen only to find his cousin staring at him.

"What are you looking at freak?" Dudley's small but strong voice echoed to his core. "Mummy!" Dudley cried and suddenly the tall form of Petunia Dursley appeared. "I don't like him!" Dudley wined. "I don't. I don't. I don't!" Dudley's food suddenly flew over the kitchen. "Why is he here? Why? Why? Why?"

Petunia shushed him, wiping the food from his face before her harsh eyes turned to Harry. "Get out of here."

Harry jumped from the chair and ran, finding the door to the cupboard under the stairs, and shutting it behind him with a soft click.

"Why?" Dudley's voice echoed. 

Above him, he could hear the distinct sound of someone jumping on the stairs. The door started rattling, the sound of the slide lock echoing around him. Pounding, rattling, "why? why? why?" Harry covered his hears but the pounding seemed to be coming from his chest, his heart. Flashes of light flitted through his closed eyes as the sight of the basilisk with its massive fangs looming over him, Voldemort's wicked red eyes staring at him from the back of Quirrel's head, the werewolf barreling down on him, his mother's scream and a flash of emerald.

"I'll hold him off!"

Harry felt as though he would rip apart from the inside. Pounding, rattling, screaming, why. Over and over. Pounding, rattling, screaming, emerald, the sound of the basilisk, the acid of basilisk venom running through his veins, rushing to his heart. Pounding, rattling, screaming. Pounding, rattling, screaming.

"Freak!"

"Mummy, I hate him!"

"Potter!"

Screaming.

"I'll hold him off!"

"Harry!"

"Get out of my sight!" 

The sound of his bones breaking under Dudley's fist. The rumbling of his empty stomach.

"Freak!"

Pounding. Rattling.

"The only reason you're here is because your parents are dead."

"I knew you would be the same, just as strange, just as abnormal."

"Sirius!" Screams that meant nothing as bodies fell into veils.

Emerald flashes and lifeless bodies of friends at his feet. There was nothing he could do.

Pounding, rattling, screaming.

Harry's heart thudded in his chest as he pressed his hands against his ears, trying to block out the million noises in his head.

He felt his nose crack, again and again as Dudley's fist pounded against his face. He felt the scratch of the lenses of his glasses, scrapping under his eyes. 

Pounding. Rattling. 

Screaming.

Only now, Harry's voice joined the chorus of others as he begged for it to stop. As his screams ripped from a hole in his chest.

Pounding. Breaking.

And suddenly, he gasped, sitting straight up in a quiet study, with a fire crackling in the corner and a snake who somehow looked very concerned.

"It appears we are not as different as I thought, Harry."

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://neurowriter14.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/NWriter14)


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